Working It Out
by Child of Loki
Summary: "So, how's the whole celibacy thing working out for you?" Chris LaSalle has sworn off women. And Merri Brody can tell it's not doing him any good. (Cherri Smut)
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own** _ **NCIS New Orleans**_ **or its character… (But if I did they wouldn't go to such horrible waste… Just saying…)**

 **Author's Note: Chris LaSalle was portrayed as a womanizer from the very beginning. So one just can't help but wonder that if he's sworn off 'women' and found a hobby as Pride suggested, then how well is the whole celibacy thing working out for him?**

 **WARNING: CONTAINS SMUT (of a possible pointless nature…) ALSO SOME COARSE LANGUAGE.**

* * *

Restless Leg Syndrome.

It was a real medical issue, wasn't it? After the past couple of days, the past few hours in particular, Merri Brody could safely say -even with no medical training beyond emergency first aid- that her partner suffered from this condition. Well, some form of it.

It was starting to drive her completely insane. Perhaps, it was a little bit amusing, as part of a larger portrait of Chris LaSalle's current mental state. Although, Merri believed that his unsettled mood was linked partially, if not wholly, to his current physical state.

But whatever the cause, the ceaseless vibrating of his left leg, the drumming of his boot heel on the decaying wooden floor... It _was_ driving her completely insane. She couldn't concentrate on the computer screen, the video feed of the neighboring house's backyard, the figures doing _something_ there. Maybe just barbequing. Maybe illegal sales of stolen merchandize.

Oh dear, god, make it stop.

She grabbed her partner's knee, and she could feel him scowling at her despite not looking in his direction. He squirmed in the chair sat beside hers, the muscles and tendons of his leg shifting beneath skin, jeans and her hand. The man undeniably retained a vast reservoir of energy, but his personality had always been a laid back sort of one... Until the past few weeks. Merri had noticed the anxious tendencies building. They'd started off small. He used to prefer sitting at his desk, leaning back in his chair while they ran down a case. Now he always stood, had begun to pace even. He had always seemed to prefer to keep his hands busy, but now it seemed downright compulsive. If he didn't have a pen or a set of keys to play with, he was tugging at his ear or his clothes. Sometimes, it looked like he was uncomfortable in his own skin, as if it were crawling with spiders or something.

But maybe he hadn't got used to the bulk of muscle he'd put back on (and some). For a while, she'd been a little concerned about how he'd thinned down, after Savannah's death. She knew he hadn't been going home most nights (and not always because he'd found another bed to rest his head, well, not _rest_ ). And she'd begun to wonder if he was bothering to eat at all. Maybe those bags of chips and other junk food they always saw him nibbling on at work were the only things he was eating. She'd thought to mention it to Pride, but the older man likely would've known before she had whether his best friend was taking care of himself. Although, Pride had seemed to take a hands-off approach to LaSalle's issues for the most part. He'd finally had a 'talk' with the troubled agent after quite some time had passed. Merri knew about it. Chris had told her... eventually.

Merri did not agree with Pride's approach. Valuing his approval above all else, Chris LaSalle had appeared to quit 'women' cold turkey. Had she worried about his intensive sleeping around? Yes. That sort of risky behavior was dangerous. Mainly to a person's health. But at the same time, Pride had always been a 'one woman' man, and Merri wasn't sure he understood Chris'... um... _effusive_ nature. The guy had been a womanizer when she met him, before he'd tried to get serious with Savannah. He'd probably been a charmer all his life, and a ladies' man since at least college (if not high school). It hadn't seemed self-destructive, his casually working his way through a string of women, dating them in a non-serious fashion until he met the next girl. But using one-night stands to avoid going home to the scene of his serious girlfriend's murder? Definitely a different thing.

Only, Merri had seen men mourn relationships before... When she dumped her college boyfriend sophomore year (and 'broken his heart'), he'd proceeded to sleep his way through the entire female population of her dorm. And when an agent she'd worked with in the Great Lakes office had lost his wife... He'd done much the same thing as LaSalle, a string of meaningless hook-ups. She'd thought it was stupid and futile. Surely, one couldn't fill the void left by the death of a person one loved with meaningless sex. But after a few months, he'd seemed to come to terms with the pain of his loss. He'd stopped sleeping around, and it was another year before he tried seriously dating again. He hadn't been himself for a little while. But then he was. Still sad sometimes, but otherwise himself.

And so Merri had been more or less content to let her friend screw his way through his grief (keeping an eye on him to make sure he wasn't avoiding other issues). Pride had not been willing to let Chris figure it out for himself (or hit 'rock bottom' as the senior agent seemed to think would happen, and Merri herself feared on some level). And so he'd more or less made Chris swear off women. And now, six months later, he was wound up tighter than an eight-day clock.

He was not a loner. He didn't like being alone. He thrived in the midst of a crowd, loved the city for all of Percy's calling him 'country mouse'. And he needed human contact. And from what she'd seen over the past few days, he needed to get _laid_.

His leg was still jittering even beneath her staying hand. She slid it up a few inches, giving his (wow- very muscular thigh) a harder squeeze.

"Ow! Wha' th' Hell, Mere?" He'd grabbed her wrist with strong fingers, the muscle tensing in his forearm. Jesus. He'd been hitting the gym hard the past month. But apparently, it hadn't been enough to burn off his extra energy, or give him the release he needed.

"Your restless leg syndrome is making me nauseas," she said. And it was. He huffed a sigh. This was probably the twentieth time in the past 24 hours she'd complained about his fidgeting. And he seemed to be as irritated at her nitpicking as she was over his inability to be still. He stopped twitching his leg, which probably meant it wasn't really Restless Leg Syndrome because a person couldn't control it, by definition.

She didn't remove her hand, however, because she was sick of this. It was time to just say it, get it out there. And the contact ensured she had his undivided attention.

"So, how's the whole celibacy thing working out for you?" she asked in a casual tone. His cheeks instantly went pink. Did he really think she hadn't noticed he had the worst case of blue balls she'd ever witnessed... Well, metaphorically. She obviously hadn't looked.

He pursed his lips, clenching his jaw. And crossed his arms in front of his chest. _Defensive, much?_

"Because from where I'm sitting..." She probably shouldn't do it... but she needed to send the message home, convince him to take care of his... um... problem before it became any more obvious to the world at large, or compromised his work performance (or made her snap entirely). She slid her hand higher and slightly to the inside of his thigh until something brushed against the edge of her pinky finger. "It doesn't seem to be working at all."

Oh god. She shouldn't've done it. She really shouldn't have done it. She'd expected him to yank her hand away, flee out of embarrassment. Embarrassment that was supposed to convince him to go find a woman and see to his needs already because the tension in him was so pronounced that it was driving _her_ crazy.

But instead, he sucked in a sharp breath, his hands going to grip the wicker seat of the ladder back chair, his large biceps bulging in the process. He'd closed his eyes and was breathing determinedly through his nose. Merri thought she'd heard him whimper.

 _Just remove your hand from his thigh._ Carefully. _Don't look._

She looked. _Fuck her_. He was visibly aroused, the bulge in his jeans looked painfully restricted by the thick denim. In that state she could probably get him off with just a few rubs of his crotch, make him moan or beg for the release he needed so badly, drawl out her name like it were pure sex.

Merri tore her eyes and hand away, jumping to her feet.

"I'm going to get a drink," she said, her voice husky with her own arousal (damn it). She barely managed to restrict herself to a brisk walk rather than a run as she left the room. So much for composure.

Well, that plan had back-fired. She needed a drink alright. An alcoholic one. And not wine. Wine was just not going to cut it. If she wasn't on the job, if they weren't staking out the house next door for theft, transport and sale of government property... A fifth of whiskey might be enough to obliterate that embarrassing display from her mind. And quell the tight knot of need that had formed low in her belly.

Fuck.

It was _his_ fault. If he hadn't been walking around the place, his stupid toned body twitching with pent up energy, giving off too much testosterone and suppressed sexual virility, invading her space, letting her catch him shirtless and _yum_... Making her have ridiculous sex dreams and wake up with her underwear soaked and her hand... Well, she'd never woken up like that before.

Maybe she should just call Pride and tell him she wasn't feeling well, that he needed to trade off with her on the surveillance. They could figure out a way to excuse it, make it work with their cover of a poor couple just moved into the rundown house.

But that would be the easy way out. She had to figure out how to work with this different (yet still entirely the same old) LaSalle. Because she liked working with him, liked New Orleans and its quirky band of NCIS agents. She didn't want to have to leave again. (She'd actually unpacked a few boxes.)

Fuck it.

She knew there had to be alcohol in the house somewhere. There was always some liquor hidden in any house. Even in Southern Baptist homes. Even in houses abandoned and boarded up and procured by NCIS for a stakeout. She checked the upper cupboards to no avail... A swollen old box of kosher salt, a jar of dubious pickled peppers, a couple chipped glasses... She began to open the lower kitchen cupboards, getting down on her hands and knees to peer into the dark recesses... Because that's where the illicit, forgotten bottle would be hiding, wouldn't it? Was that a glint of light off some glass? Yes!

It was _Ew! Sticky!_ and covered with dust. Oh, and rum! For once, all the rum wasn't gone. There was about a third of the decent sized bottle left. Score! She crawled back out of the cupboard, got to her feet, turned to grab a glass and- _jesus!_

Chris had snuck up on her, taken her thoroughly by surprise. How long had he been there, watching her crawl around in the moldering kitchen cupboards?

He was so _close_ she could smell the lust on him, sweat and heat and musky male. His eyes fixed on her face, so dark a blue they looked black. He yanked the bottle of rum out of her hand, set it on the counter, grabbed her arms and kissed her.

His whole body collided with hers sending them stumbling backwards until her ass hit a cupboard door slamming it shut as he pushed her up against the countertop, the sharp, broken edge of the linoleum counter digging into her lower spine. But she didn't care. Heat was blistering over her in waves as he pressed himself up against her, everywhere. He was everywhere. His hands tangling in her hair, rubbing her shoulders and back. His mouth was on hers, his tongue thrusting into her before his lips were torn away to be reapplied to her throat. His muscular arms encircled her. His body, firm and warm was pressed against her in more places than she could even consider. His arousal eagerly pushed against her belly, and when he grabbed her waist and lifted her to sit on the edge of the counter, it settled so perfectly against her own sex that her eyes rolled back into her head and she had a damp pair of panties for the second time that day. Although, she had a feeling she might be discarding them in a hurry very shortly. Very, very short- _Mm.._

He was kissing her mouth again, sloppy and greedily, his hands finding their way up under her t-shirt to caress her belly before moving higher to cup and squeeze her breasts contained in her simple satin bra. The sensation of his strong, rough hands dipping into the silky cups to run calloused thumbs over her nipples had her arching her back and grinding against him, which in turn caused him to collapse against her, burying his face in her neck, a low growling string of profanity the likes of which she'd never heard from the well-mannered man rumbling softly against her ear.

And then he was pulling away, leaving her quite bereft, whimpering even.

"We shouldn'." His voice was low and husky, but also desperate, _desperate_ for her to tell him he was wrong, that they _could_ do this. That it was okay to do this.

God, she wanted it to be okay, too.

Why couldn't they? Why shouldn't they? They wanted it. They _needed_ it.

Things couldn't become any stranger between them than it already had. And oh, fuck, how she-

She grabbed the front of the t-shirt stretched deliciously across his toned chest and tugged him back to her.

"I want you," she said before kissing him. This time she was the one being greedy as she parted his lips with her tongue and thrust it inside to taste him. _Oh, yum_. More. More! _More!_

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hips instinctively thrusting against him. And then he was pulling away again.

Maybe she was wrong about his wanting it. Part of him most definitely did. Neither of them could pretend otherwise. But that had little to do with what the rest of him wanted, did it?

"I ain't gotta condom," he said. Oh. She nearly sighed in relief. Because she was admittedly a little disappointed by the idea that he didn't want her, that she'd have to lock herself in the bedroom and take care of her own problem. By the sounds of it, she may still have to... Or they could probably just finish up with their clothes on. Judging by his state, as well as her own feeling of teetering just on the edge, they certainly would be capable of getting off without getting naked.

"You clean?" she asked, panting since she hadn't recovered her breathing at all.

He blushed. How the man blushed even though he was flush with arousal, Merri didn't know. But it was sort of adorable. Talking about sex embarrassed him even when they were about to do it?

"Yup." His boyish grin began to light up his face. "Why? Ya don't wanna…"

"There's no problem on my side of things," Merri said, dragging him in for another kiss.

"Mebbe it ain't... a good idea… anyway..." His words devolved into a pleased moan as she nipped as his jaw line and earlobe, began to suck a mark onto his neck.

"If you don't want to, we won't," she said, pulling back to look into his dark, dark blue eyes. It damned well looked like he wanted to, but 'no' was 'no' in whichever form it came.

"I just thought..." she reached for his crotch and he collapsed against her again, his hands seeking out the countertop on either side of her ass to hold himself up. "You might need a little relief."

"Darlin'..." His voice was a husky growl. "Do I ever."

He cupped her face, gave her a quick peck on the lips. She wanted more. Fuck. Her whole body was vibrating with need, so close already.

"But it wouldn' be fair ta ya," He blushed a little more. "I ain't gonna last long."

Was that the only reason he was hesitating?

"Don't care," she said, reaching for his belt and smashing her lips against his once more. It seemed to be all the encouragement he needed, for he kissed her back, his tongue thrusting eagerly into her mouth with promise of what was to come. His hands fell to her waist, beneath her shirt and the feel of his calloused fingers and palms against her sensitive skin sent shivers of pleasure up her spine.

Then he was unfastening her jeans, she was lifting her bottom and they were a pile in the corner of the dusty kitchen. Another item for the dirty laundry pile. Her panties shortly followed. As for her own eagerness, well, she'd gone straight for his fly herself. This wasn't going to be a slow exploration of one another, however nice it would be to worship every inch of her partner's nicely built _yummy_ body. It was probably lucky they got in as much kissing and touching and rubbing up against one another as they had.

They both knew what it was about. That euphoric release of all the pent up, wound up, maddening sexual tension.

So he didn't ask, just met her gaze with his lusty blue one and then was plunging inside of her, setting a pounding rhythm. She clung to him because she was afraid of reaching for the flimsy kitchen cupboards to steady herself against the ride.

And he'd been right. It was a brief one. But she'd also been telling the truth. She didn't care. He'd had her so worked up that her need was a tightly coiled spring deep inside of her, and yet also fully exposed. Because it had sprung on her with the friction of his initial penetration. She hadn't come that quickly or hard in a long, long time. She could only dig her fingers into the soft fabric of the shirt covering his solid shoulders and ride it out as he grabbed her hips with bruising force and chased his own release.

It was a brief chase, but long enough to push her deeper into her own orgasm, and she was seeing stars and panting for air when it was over and they clung to one another in light-headed, whimpering, giggling bliss.

After about a minute or so, when the world settled back into focus a little, he kissed her once more. This time gently, with more affection than lust. And then he touched his forehead to hers, rubbed his nose against hers in an Eskimo Kiss that was so sweet she couldn't help but giggle like a silly school girl.

"That cel'bacy thing," he said. "It wa'n't workin' out."

* * *

 **A/N: Perhaps another part to this story? Chris' side of his struggle with celibacy whilst being stuck on the stake out with Merri, living and working in close quarters?**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note: Well, we know Chris failed at the whole 'celibacy' thing, but how does he feel about it? And what is he going to do now that he's ravished Merri while they were on a stakeout?**

 **WARNING: CONTAINS MATURE SUBJECT MATTER AND COARSE LANGUAGE**

* * *

Goddang the woman.

He may have sworn off females for a while, trying his hand at being celibate. But he wa'n't a dang monk. What the hell did she think would happen after three days of flaunting her curvy, feminine body clad in a pair of jeans that fit her round ass like a second skin. And her casual t-shirts. What the hell was with those?! The comfort-garments were supposed to make a woman look frumpy, hide her figure with their unisex cut. But, no. Not _hers_. The extremely worn, soft fabric clung to her _parts_ with near translucency (he could see that one the bras she'd been wearing was polka dot, for crying out loud!).

This stakeout had been the most difficult of his life. More so even than some of those awful Vice operations he'd done everything in his power to forget.

At least then, he'd had the blood flowing to his brain and capacity to deal with the issues that arose... But this time, _issues_ had been _arising_ that he just wasn't prepared to deal with.

He couldn't help it.

He wasn't a monk.

He had _needs_ , damn it. God, that made him sound like a pig, a dang barnyard animal... No, a wild one, ruttin' wherever it damned well pleased.

His forehead hit the old cheap kitchen cupboard with a _thunk_ as he leaned against the decaying linoleum countertop... Upon which he'd just _fucked_ his partner, his _partner_ for god's sake. His _friend_.

 _Thunk._

Idiot. _Thunk._

Idiot. Idiot. Idiot. _Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

Okay. Just calm down a little. He could figure this out. Merri was a grown woman, a smooth, cool and collected one... _generally_. She'd made the first move on him. So what if she'd run away and he'd chased her and they'd... screwed like randy teenagers? God, how embarrassingly quick the quickie had been. His cheeks blushed hot with the shame of it.

But, she had climaxed, part of him pointed out, a little too smugly. She hadn't faked that, how the spasms wracked her body, her fingers digging into his shoulders as her body writhed against him, cries tearing from deep in her throat, her inner muscles tensing around him with a devastatingly tight grip. God, she'd milked him dry. He coulda swore he'd blacked out there, his heart skipping a couple beats before reality reasserted itself.

And then she'd seemed pleased... laughing in that melodic way of hers, making him certain she'd been as light-headed as he'd felt. They'd stayed close, affectionate for a couple minutes, but when he'd pulled out of her, she'd hopped off the counter and made a bee-line for the bathroom.

He could hear the water running in the tiny shower stall. Water of intermittent temperature, spraying over her naked body, washing the sweat and evidence of their blitzkrieg coupling away. More than a small part of him really wanted to seek her out, try to squeeze his body into the ridiculously tiny cubicle with hers, touch her bare skin, every inch of it. He'd only had a teasing sample of the feel of her. He wanted it all.

No.

No. This was obviously just a one-time thing. An expedient means to an end. A release valve for the tension, both sexual and otherwise that had built up between them. Well, if there had actually been any thought involved, that would've been the justification. But there hadn't been much thinking going on at all, had there? Just _feeling_... lots of it. So much, he'd felt like one raw nerve, lost all grip on his sense of propriety, self and reality.

He sighed, turning the sink on, listening a moment to see if it disrupted Merri's shower, but there were no yelps or clatters, so he figured it was safe to let the water run and clean himself up, too.

Emotionally, there doubtless would be consequences to what he'd - _they'd_ \- done. But - _lord help him_ \- he felt as if a great weight had been lifted. Merri, observant little minx, had nailed it (nailed him, too). He'd been so twisted up by his unsated sex drive that he'd been a nervous wreck, agitated, unfocused. Honestly, he hadn't been much help observing their 'neighbors'.

It had gotten so fucking bad that had been able to find a dark corner to hide, he would've just jerked off and been done with it. Except... that solution hadn't been working very well lately. The relief was short-lived, fleeting. And he knew it was because he was craving the warm body of a fetching woman. Well, not just her body, but everything that came with it. (Pun intended, he supposed). He liked making love to women, not just because their bodies felt so good beneath his or on top of his, adjacent to... tangled up or loosely connected... Where'd his train of thought been headed?

Oh, right. Women. Their mouths and eyes and curvy, soft and strong bodies. Their melodic voices, some high and sweet, some low and husky. The way they laughed if you found just the right spot to touch or kiss or nibble. The way they whimpered, mewled, moaned, groaned, screamed or lost their voices entirely when you pleasured them. He loved it. He loved them.

And no, his hand had been no substitute for the intimate company of a woman.

But he hadn't even been able to find that brief remedy, not with _her_ around every moment of every day for the past week. Okay, it'd only been going on four days. But it felt an eternity. An eternity of having her so close, her laughter, her melodic voice, her eyes and teasing lips and soft and strong, curvy body, so close and entirely off limits.

They were all off limits. He'd made a promise, to himself, to King.

Well, he'd certainly broken that spectacularly... Or had he? How destructive would this little rendezvous prove to be?

Despite his lighter steps as he made his way back to the surveillance room and a general feeling of lifted spirits (thank you endorphin rush), Chris couldn't help worrying more than a little about how badly he'd just fucked up one of the best partnerships, _friendships_ he'd ever had.

He plopped back down into the chair he'd held onto for dear life earlier while trying to quell every instinctual urge in him and failing. He pulled up the recorded video feed on the second monitor, went back to the point he last remembered watching it and then started playing it, trying to catch up, make sure they hadn't missed anything while they'd been on their... uh... break.

Yet, like earlier, he wasn't concentrating on it at all. This time, however it was entirely different reasons. Okay, not entirely. It was still because of _her_.

Meredith Brody.

Sliding her hand up the inside of his thigh, looking at him with big brown _hungry_ eyes, grabbing him with sure, determined hands, grinding herself against him, riding him as much as he was ramming her. Tasting sweet and savory at the same time. Smelling like the musty house, sweat, female arousal and honeysuckle. And making him come so hard the universe shattered.

So warm and snug.

Dang the woman. He most assuredly wasn't a monk. Because he was already halfway in serious trouble again just thinking about the sweet clutch of her body. So of course, before he could get himself under control, Merri reappeared, her hair damp but already beginning to curl, the thin t-shirt sticking to her not-quite-dry skin. She smelled like honeysuckle and soap. It wafted over him as she leaned over his shoulder to use the laptop, the scent inciting still-extremely vivid memories to overwhelm his poor abused senses.

He tried to follow what she was doing but couldn't concentrate an ounce. Not with her so close that her shoulder brushed against his chest and he could practically _taste_ her.

He wanted more. He wanted _all_ of her.

She straightened and he expected her to try to discuss the case with him, having returned to an all professionalism and business stance. It would've washed completely over his distracted mind. But she didn't even try.

Instead, she took his hand and tugged it, a coy smile teasing her lips.

"C'mon," she said. "Let's go to bed."

His mouth went dry. She was giving him that look again, one that would be forever seared into his (wet) dreams.

"We cain't do that," he said, wishing as hard as he were capable that they could do just that. "We're on a stakeout."

"They're tucked in for the night," she said, with a wave of one hand in the vague direction of the neighboring house gone dark. The hand joined her other at his wrist, giving him another little coaxing tug. "And we can be, too."

Chris just stared at the woman standing before him, in complete disbelief. Merri Brody would never goof off while on the job. Not for any reason he could think of. Okay, so there'd been that time that they'd inadvertently gotten into a food fight after taking a suspect down in a Hostess Snack Cake warehouse. And she _had_ been the first one to throw a Ho Ho after he laughed about her ending up with Twinkies smear across her ass... Her very nice, heart-shaped ass... coated in frosting... He swallowed the groan over the fantasy image of licking cream-filling off the round swell of her naked backside.

"What if they wake up in the middle a' the night ta broker some illicit deal?" Someone had to try to pretend to be professional here. Although, he wasn't sure how he'd managed to find any reasonable part of himself... Not when she was giving him that _damned_ sexy-as-hell-voracious-seductress look of hers.

"That's what I set the motion detector alarm for on the video feed. It will alert us if there's any activity."

Oh.

She leaned in to whisper in his ear, her husky tone putting the final nail in Reason's coffin. "We can broker our own late night deal."

He was on his feet and following her -okay, chasing her into the bedroom. It was just a mattress on the floor and a lamp, their bags thrown into separate corners (his vomiting clothing items out, hers neatly kept). It would've been skeevy as hell, but the mattress was newly purchased for this operation, as was the bedding. And with the company of such a woman as Merri Brody, he'd happily roll around naked in even less desirable circumstances.

As it was, crawling into the bed where she'd been sleeping when they switched off surveillance shifts... Smelling the honeysuckle scent of her shampoo lingering on the pillow... He'd been a good boy and hadn't given into any of the urgent demands of his body for relief, but just barely. And where had it gotten him in the end? Molesting his partner in the grody kitchen.

Although now she was running for the bedroom, laughing as he caught her up and wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her backside flush to his front, and nuzzling at the side of her face and her hair until she relented, cocking her head to give him access to her neck which he proceeded to explore thoroughly with his lips and tongue... and a little teeth. She alternated between laughing in a surprised pleased sort of way and moaning softly, her hand coming up to stroke the back of his head as he nipped at her shoulder, his own hands roaming up under her shirt.

"Yer skin tastes good." It was more a mumble against said delicious skin than words, but she seemed to get the message, whimpering lightly. "So do yer lips."

He turned her so he could taste her mouth again, her sweet, warm, soft lips a delight beyond measure. She kissed him back, her arms circling his neck, her body pressing wantonly against him.

God, how long had she felt this way?

Chris himself had found her extremely attractive from the very first day, but hadn't started coveting her gorgeous, curvy body until the past few months. And lust could rise up fast, for certain. But it never came from nowhere. She must've had some sort of feelings for him before this.

"I always wondered how ya'd taste," he whispered against her lips.

"Me, too," she said, pushing him backwards towards the mattress. "Will you let me taste you?"

When her slender, skilled fingers reached for the fly of his jeans he felt his eyes (and other parts of him) bulge. He wet his lips, nodded his silent permission, words sort of sticking somewhere in the back of his throat.

He didn't know why. Wasn't burying himself between her thighs, coming deep inside of her the most intense kind of intimacy? Somehow, what she was offering to do, wanting to do, seemed to bespeak an even more unfathomable closeness. It was trust and generosity and affection. Earlier in the kitchen, it had been as much about seeking pleasure and release on her part as it had been for him.

But now, now she slowly undressed him, her fingers tenderly caressing, her mouth bestowing affection on his skin. It felt like she was... No, he was certain. She was _loving_ him.

After coaxing him down onto the mattress and taking him into her mouth -her beautiful, fantastic, heavenly mouth- she looked at him, her gorgeous dark eyes watching him. And he watched her watching him as she pleasured him with her sinful, blessed mouth, as she _loved_ him. Until the pleasure blossomed and swelled and he was lost to it, closing his eyes and throwing his head back, grabbing fistfuls of the blankets beneath him, his hips bucking uncontrollably as he reached moaning, mindless ecstasy.

God, she was fuckin' amazin'!

He loved her. He loved her mouth and her tongue, and her clever, piercing dark eyes and her round bottom (which he wanted to lick frosting off from) and her breasts and her melodic laugh, and the way her mouth twitched when she fought a smile, or how she could intimidate a man twice her size with just a look, chase down suspects in high-heeled boots, call Percy on her bullshit, be the voice of reason even when Pride lost his cool... How red wine stained her pretty lips as dark as cherries. How she never unpacked all of her belongings. Even how she always seemed prepared to run, even though he knew she loved New Orleans and the family she found there. She was a wild untamable creature, independent and strong, but still vulnerable, wanting to be loved.

And maybe he could be the one to love her.

Feeling her slide up his body to lay on top of him, her worn t-shirt soft against his bare chest, the denim of her jeans coarse against his sated male parts, he opened his eyes to find his vision filled with the beautiful visage of her face.

And he loved her freckles, too.

She was worrying her lower lip with her tongue, looking extremely pleased with herself.

Oh, he was so fucking screwed. He even loved the way she gloated.

"Guess I made you break your celibacy vow," she said, her smugness adding this purring quality to her voice as she rested her hands on his chest and her chin on her hands.

"Nah," he said, catching her off-guard and grinning over the surprise that widened her eyes, which then narrowed in suspicion.

"Oh, really?" She was incredulous, but it wasn't bravado on his part. Technically, he hadn't broken his word. Even if they made a night of this. Even if they made several nights of this... Or (he was definitely thinking he'd prefer) even if they made this into an actual _thing_.

"I promised King I wouldn't keep beddin' _women_. Plural," he said. "I ain't never said nothin' about beddin' just one."

Rather than laugh at his not-so-witty wordplay, as he thought she would, Merri's expression sobered. There was an intensity in her gaze that made his heart flutter in his chest, confirming that yes, he definitely was a complete goner. When had that happened?

"And you want that _one_ to be me?" she asked, her voice uncharacteristically small and vulnerable.

"Well, yeah," he said, moving a hand to cup her face and stroke her cheek with his thumb. He suddenly felt extremely nervous, desperate in a way that had nothing to do with sexual frustration. "I think yer the one-" He swallowed down the pesky nervous knot. "-the only one that I wanna be with."

Merri's eyes went wide before she turned away, refusing to look at him. It was a stab straight to his poor abused heart and he cursed himself for being so stupid, so delusional as to think that she could- _Was she crying?!_

She'd buried her face into his shoulder and the wetness against his bare skin was undeniably from tears. And oh, god, it hurt him more that she was upset than that she'd sort of rejected him. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight, caressing her back in soft circles, trying to soothe her, hoping he could make her pain go away, whatever it was.

"Mere..." He said after a long moment of silence but for her stifled sobs. "I'm s'rry if I said somethin' ta upset ya. I didn'-"

He was interrupted by the sound of a gunshot tearing through the still night air.

* * *

 **A/N: So I had meant for this to be just a two-shot. But Chris and Merri just weren't cooperating with my desire for a quickly achieved 'happy ending' (yes, bad innuendo intended). So it's going to be a three-shot, I think.**

 **A/N2: I hate to do this, but I really have to ask you guys to review. It's the only gauge I have to know which of the numerous in-progress fics I should put time and effort into when I have other projects I should be spending my writing time on. Sorry for whining. But it is the way it is. And your feedback is the only payment I get for writing fanfiction. XOXO Love you guys ;-)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: I fully intended to have this update posted last week, but long story-short, no internet access for the past week. (And probably another whole week. So back to trekking to the library once a week or so).**

* * *

Blue eyes. Dark as the depths of the ocean. She could drown in eyes like those.

And Merri Brody wasn't sure whether that was a good thing. Or a bad thing.

Because she _missed_ him. It was an ache deep inside of her, sometimes duller than others, but always there. It was especially difficult going to bed alone at night. It's not like they had the time to make it a habit. Really, it'd only been the once, and not even a full night. But she just couldn't help it, lying awake in bed, thinking about what might've been, such as falling asleep in his arms every night.

No. Maybe this guy was a terrible choice. Because he had eyes like Chris LaSalle.

Except, she'd tried ones that didn't remind her of the man at all. Although, physical resemblance hadn't seemed as important as personality. If they were charming and had a broad, little boy grin... She spent the rest of the night afterwards crying into her pillow. So what did it matter?

None of them would be a substitute. None of them would help her get over him.

And yet, she didn't finish her drink and politely excuse herself. Rather, she finished the glass of merlot and accepted her 'date's offer of another. And then his invitation to dance.

He smelled of beer, cologne and sweat as his body rubbed against hers, taking advantage of the crowded dance floor to feel her up. He didn't smell the same. He didn't feel the same. But maybe if she closed her eyes tight and pretended. Or maybe if she stared into his dark blue eyes...

 _Oh, Chris..._

She let go of all of her stupid thoughts and worries, doubts and fears. And lost herself in the fantasy. Chris' hands on her hips, his lips on her neck as he pressed his body so tightly to hers that his desire was undeniable. His breath hot against her skin as he whispered to her, his smooth southern accent gone all husky.

"May I cut in?"

Merri jerked, her heart skipping several beats as the cloud of her fantasy world evaporated, leaving only reality behind, albeit an unbelievable one. Chris LaSalle standing there, in the middle of the dance floor, a solid, unmoving presence amongst the mass of undulating bodies. She just stared at the last man she'd expected to see that night. Because when he went out nowadays, it was generally just to Pride's bar.

She knew it. And that's why she'd felt safe to run wild the way she'd had, to search every club and bar in town, trying to find any other man to make her forget him. Because she couldn't be with him. It was dangerous. It was a distraction. It was a mistake.

"S-s'rry buddy," her 'date' said, glaring at Chris LaSalle with eyes that had none of the depth of his rival's. She had been mistaken (or maybe just desperate), trying to make that comparison. "She'sss wi' me."

"Why don'tchya let her decide." Chris' eyes were dark blue like the depths of the ocean. Just as vast, an unstoppable force. So beautiful. So determined.

But her date was drunk. Merri pulled herself away from the man she'd been planning on filling a void with, a void left by the man so unexpectedly here, now, before her.

"It's okay, baby," she said, caressing her date's cheek. She wasn't sure why she did it when she held no real feelings of affection for the guy. Did she want to make Chris jealous, see what he would do?

That was unfair of her. She'd been the one that pulled away... ran away... Ran away in search of something she couldn't have.

"Who'ss'is jerk an'way?" God, she hadn't realized how drunk the man had gotten. Probably because she was working pretty hard at being inebriated herself. It made the fucking easier, the pretending it was /him/ seeking pleasure between her thighs.

"He's a friend," she said. "And I need to just talk to him for a minute. Then I'll meet you at the bar, okay?"

Her date didn't seem very okay with her wanting to spend a 'minute' with someone else, so she sealed it with a kiss. He tasted like stale beer. She found it a little repulsive, even knowing hypocritically, if the flavor had been teased from her blue-eyed partner's mouth, she'd savor it.

At least it seemed to pacify her intended companion for the night, and the man ambled off towards the bar, the crowd parting around the unsteady drunk. Maybe she shouldn't leave him alone. But the bartender would see to him, tuck him in a cab when she failed to show up and he indulged in a few more drinks.

Merri knew she should feel guilty. Just as she knew how the night was going to end for her former date. She could only hope and dread how her own evening would turn out now, now that Chris LaSalle was taking her by the hand and all but dragging her out of the club.

She didn't have to wait long for an explanation. They'd barely hit the open air before he whirled on her.

"What the hell are ya doin', Mere?" He was angry. And she couldn't blame him. She'd been treating him badly. Although, he had no right to criticize how she spent her off-hours. Well, no right that he knew about. Because he may have given her some say in his life by confessing his feelings towards her, but she'd given him no such power in return.

"I was on a date," she said, straightening herself to her full height, which in her three-inch heels gave her a slight advantage over his average stature.

"Ya been goin' on a lotta dates lately," he said. She could see it in his beautiful blue eyes, the war against himself. His polite, mannered side wanted to respect her privacy, the few boundaries still between them. But his passionate, possessive side wanted to protect her, claim his territory.

"So what if I am?" she said. "I'm a grown woman. I can do what I want."

He closed his eyes, wincing as if she'd slapped him. "I know that, Mere. Jus'...

Stepping in close, he took her by the arms and stared into her in that unwaveringly intense way of his. "Why're ya actin' like a child 'bout what we done?"

She should feel incensed, angry. But she didn't. Because he was right and she knew it. It was just that she hadn't had any other recourse. To protect them both, she'd had to push him away. Surely, he knew that they had to distance themselves so they could cool off.

Only she hadn't cooled off. Instead, she was filled with a stupid burning desire for the man. It was shameful. And unwanted. And just so embarrassingly cliche. People didn't feel like this in real life. A couple quick sexual romps and she was- what?!- madly in love with the man? It was stupid.

Then, why was she taking man after man to her bed, trying to fill that yearning void inside of her?

"What do you want me to do?" she said, grabbing the front of his shirt. She wasn't sure who she was asking. Chris, herself, the universe, God... She thought that maybe it was just a rhetorical expression of her inner turmoil.

"I dunno..." He shook his head. "If ya wanna forget it happened, that's fine. But I cain't lose ya as a friend, Mere. Please. Yer too important ta me."

She wanted to tell him, she wanted to tell him exactly how she felt, what she wanted. But she couldn't. She just couldn't.

"But it happened," she said, then whispered, "You told me... You said that you thought I was the one. How can I..."

Chris released her, stepping back as he wet his lips nervously. Well, he knew now that it wasn't because of the sex. If it had just been sex, she might've gotten over that. But it was _him_. It was his feelings. And her... _feelings_.

She had them, too. Didn't he see that? Didn't he realize that was why they couldn't act upon them.

"We messed up, Chris," she said. "We weren't even really together, and we messed up. Someone was shot and killed because we were too busy _fucking_ around."

She watched his Adam's Apple bob as he swallowed, obviously suffering all of the same guilt and self-blame she did. But he surprised her by shaking his head firmly, a determined set to his jaw and confidence in his gaze when he looked at her.

"No," he said. "I'm sorry if ya think I betrayed ya by confessin' ta King. But I had ta tell him everythin' 'cause I was feelin' guilty, too. But ya know what he did?"

Merri shook her head, recounting several instances over the last month in a new light, the way Pride looked at her when he caught her staring at the younger male agent on their team. God, the idea that he'd known the nature of her wistful gazes... She'd fret over the embarrassment later. Because she honestly had no idea how the senior agent would respond to the news that two of his agents had been screwing on the job.

She shook her head.

"He laughed," Chris said. "And then said that although we shouldn'a succumbed ta our -uh- _mutual attraction_ on the clock, what happened wa'n't our fault. None of the surveillance feeds picked up the killer's entry."

He stepped in close, taking her arms in his hands once more, his calloused palms feeling so fucking _good_ against her bare skin.

"Even if we had been watchin' wi'out blinkin', we never woulda seen it comin'. It ain't our fault."

Merri knew all of this argument. The surprising part was that Pride knew and hadn't really cared that two of his agents, who often worked at partners, had engaged in sexual relations.

"That doesn't mean we can be together," she said, trying to pull away even though she'd wanted nothing more than to be in the man's arms, had pined for his touch for the past month.

"Why not?" She saw the counterpart to her own yearning in his eyes when he refused to let go of her.

Why not? Because they worked together. Because they were friends. Because anyone she ever dared to love with all of her heart had left her. Because, "I don't want to hurt you, Chris."

"Then why can't ya tell me the real reason?" he asked. "Why did my tellin' ya that I wanted ta be wi' ya make ya cry? Why are ya jus' runnin' away agin'?"

"Because that's what I have to do to protect myself," she said, unable to withstand the pain mingled with affection and desperate need in his eyes. "Because the last man who told me that I was the only one he wanted to be with left me."

"I ain't James," Chris said, his voice fierce.

"I know that!" She couldn't do this. She just... She couldn't. The only reason Chris had been able to keep hold of her was because she hadn't really tried to break free. And now that she did, he only made the faintest effort at stopping her. He was too damned gentlemanly to keep her against her will. Damn the man. (Love the man.)

She headed up the street in the general direction of her home. It'd be a long walk, but she'd pick up a cab along the way.

Only, Chris might not physically try to stop her, but he was as tenacious as he was well-mannered, and he was soon keeping stride next to her even as she increased her pace. This unfortunately made the alcohol in her system go to her head, unsteadying her in her high heels so that she had to accept the supportive arm of the man she'd rejected (multiple times now) as it snaked about her waist.

"I wouldn' never leave ya," he said softly.

"They all said that, too." Her voice was tight and high now as the tears threatened.

"Tell me 'bout it, Mere." His voice, however, remained steady and strong. It wasn't indifferent, however. Just comforting, inviting, like the warmth of his body and the scent of his skin. "Please. As a friend who cares 'bout ya, if nothin' more."

"Not here," she said, finally stopping her fleeing-pace, and leaning heavily against his side. "Take me home."

"Okay." He kissed the side of her head and steered her back towards the bar, where he'd doubtless parked his own truck nearby. "I'll get ya home."

...

Merri reappeared from her bedroom, dressed in one of those worn t-shirts of hers and a pair of soft sweatpants that clung to the curve of her hips. The change of attire made her no less appealing. Which Chris supposed just went to show how badly he had it for her. Because that dress she'd been wearing had been sexy as hell.

Living in a household with a teenage girl for many years of his childhood, he'd learned more than he ever wanted about women's clothing. But for an adoring little brother, sometimes the only way to get his beloved big sister to take him fishing was to listen to her prattle on about clothes and boy bands for awhile. She'd learned how to fish from their daddy before he didn't seem to have time for his kids no more, and ever since the first time she'd taken her youngest brother out to the crick with a couple poles, he'd been hooked. And so he'd learned about several different kinds of lures, including the ones girls used on boys.

And that's why he knew the dress that had fit Merri's hourglass figure to perfection didn't come from any off-the-rack store. That thing had to have been tailored to hug her narrow waist as well as the flare of her hips. And to mold perfectly to her large, round breasts, showing just enough cleavage to entice every male creature that passed her way.

She'd obviously been doing some fishing.

He'd also heard enough gossip to know that she'd been catching quite a haul. He just couldn't understand why. It wasn't to make him jealous. Because she'd also been pushing him away. And Merri wasn't the type to be contradictory like that. Sure, she kept some of her thoughts and feelings bottled up tight. But she never manipulated people. Well, except suspects. She never played with her friends' feelings.

He patted the cushion beside where he'd settled into her sofa. When she sat down, he was relieved that it was directly beside him and not at the other end of the couch. Just like when they watched a movie together (or when she was gracious enough to submit to whatever game he happened to be interested in seeing.) But she did seem nervous, a little stiff and purposefully not touching him. He draped his arm casually over the back of the sofa, relaxing his already slouched posture further, trying to ease her with the familiarity of their previously genial rapport.

Surprisingly, she leaned into his side, cuddling against him, laying her head on his shoulder. He opted to let her be, to allow the easy silence to settle around them like the afghan he pulled from the back of the sofa to wrap her up.

"I've lost more than just James," she said after a few minutes.

"His runnin' off prob'ly don't compare ta Emily," Chris said, letting his arm drop to encompass her shoulders and hug her more snugly to his side.

"No, it doesn't," she said quietly. "But there's something else, _someone_ else I've never told anyone about before... Well, except for Emily. But she..."

"She's yer sister." Chris understood. He didn't have a twin, but he and Cade had been very close once. Were getting there again. "Yer secrets are her secrets."

When he looked down at her she was actually smiling. It wasn't completely carefree, but he'd take it.

"Yes. That's it exactly," she said. "She could understand, give me sympathy without the judgment that comes with any discussion with my mother."

"Ya know how much I respect ya, Merri. I wouldn' never judge-"

She interrupted him before he could finish his pledge of devotion. "You might after this."

Her arms had wormed their way around his waist and she seemed to tighten her hold on him as she proceeded to tell her story, as if to keep him from running way from like she claimed everyone else did. (If she didn't do the running first.)

"I was twenty-five. I'd been at NCIS for three years. And I was in love with a man named Tim."

Merri Brody was a private person, but she'd eventually told Chris about James. And about Emily's death. She'd never breathed a word or made a reference to this Tim before. He knew it must represent a dark part of her past, that she kept it locked up so tight, buried deep in her memory. Yet, a warm spot of pleasure formed in his chest because she was sharing this secret with _him_ , opening up to him.

"We weren't together long, but I'd never felt that way about anyone before. And never again until..."

When she trailed off into an awkward throat-clearing sound, he bit the inside of his cheek so as not to push her to finish that sentence. God, how he wanted her, wanted her to _want_ him. How had he gotten to this point?

One look at Merri's beauitful face provided all the answers to that, all the answers he ever needed.

"But he left you?" Chris shifted to face her, to pull her fully into his arms if necessary.

She nodded. "Only after I ended up pregnant."

Chris was dumbstruck. The idea had never occurred to him. Not that he didn't think Merri would make a good mother, not that he hadn't had fantasies over the past month that maybe her birth control wasn't so solid and that he'd knocked her up. It wasn't likely, he knew. He had no idea how he'd react if she had gotten pregnant. He only knew that he would never run off on her, like this Tim apparently had.

He took her hand in his. It was cold, colder than usual even for her. He added his other hand, wrapping the fingers around her chilled ones, trying to reassure her with the warmth of his body. He'd give her every last bit of his body heat if he could, if it would buy her a moment of comfort.

"He...uh... He convinced me to get rid of the baby first, though," she said, her big brown eyes tearing up. "Said that if I loved him, if I wanted to be with him, I wouldn't burden us with a child so soon in our relationship."

Chris tried to keep his expression neutral. "But it wasn't what you wanted?"

Merri shook her head. "Yes. No. I mean, I wasn't ready yet to be a mother. It was the only reasonable thing to do. I thought someday I'd have kids, when I was settled and could support them, really be there for them... As soon as it was done, though, Tim stopped returning my calls... I'm not sure if it'd gotten too real for him. Or maybe I'm just- just unlovable."

Chris pulled her fully into his arms, and she went willingly. She was crying in that same silent way of hers, only noticeable because of the tears wetting her cheeks, and now his neck and shoulder.

"I love ya, Merri," he said. "An' I always will, even if ya jus' wanna be friends. I won't never leave ya."

She was hugging him back, and feeling her arms wrapped around his waist, her warm body cuddled up against him was the absolute best. He could be happy spending eternity just holding her close like this.

The tears had seemed to stop, so he risked trying to cheer her up with a joke.

"An' I wouldn' mind tryin' ta make babies wi' ya."

He nearly sighed with relief when he felt her shake with laughter against him, pushing away enough to slap his chest.

"Is sex the only thing you think about?" she asked. Her big brown eyes had gone bright again. He was glad to see the light back inside of her. He'd missed it dearly.

"Nah," he said. "I also think 'bout sports an' beer an' fishin.'"

She rolled her eyes. He chuckled.

They fell into a silence, their proximity fostering the kind of tension that had last resulted in... Well, completely spending himself deep between Merri's thighs. And god, how he wanted to do it again. And again. And again. He'd never grow tired of makin' love to such a woman as the one in his arms.

He kissed her, gently, knowing how emotionally raw she must still be feeling. But she intensified the encounter until it was rather heated, involving more than just their lips, mouths, tongues. Her hands were skirting the waistband of his jeans, beneath his shirt, caressing his bare skin and sending shivers up his spine.

After a few minutes, as he began to wonder if they wouldn't wind up naked on her sofa, the embrace began to wane to a natural break. He couldn't really regret it (well, parts of him certainly felt the loss as she pulled her warm, soft, supple, _stimulating_ body away from his). Because she looked at him with such affection that his heart seemed to skip several beats. And he realized that it was really what he'd been pining for over the past several weeks.

"Make love to me, Chris," she said as she got to her feet and stood before him reaching a hand out to him, looking at him, _into_ him with her gorgeous dark eyes. "Please."

It was an invitation he couldn't refuse.

* * *

 **A/N: Well, they seem to be working it out… So maybe we don't need that last chapter? ;-) Just kidding! I know this didn't meet your smut fix (had to work through the emotional stuff somewhere) and Merri hasn't openly admitted her feelings yet! Do you think Chris can get her to admit she's in love with him?**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I'm very sorry for the wait, especially since so many of you were kind enough to leave reviews on this fic (thank you!) But I sort of got distracted by other things… And lost interest in the lame characterization of LaSalle in the canon. But I simply shall continue to write him as the awesome character that was established in season one that I loved.**

 **So the final installment to this little (primarily smutty) fic… enjoy!**

* * *

Chris LaSalle filled her in a way no one else ever had. And she didn't mean size-wise. Although, he seemed to be just right in that regard as well, just big enough to give her that wonderful-uncomfortable stretching sensation as he sank his flesh into hers.

No, it was more than just his lean, fit body that she'd been pining for. That void, that hollow place left behind when she'd pushed him away, it could only be filled by him, _all_ of him. His personality, the way he looked at her and touched her, the vibrancy of him.

Merri had never thought in a million years that someone like Chris would be the one to make her feel whole. Not that she'd felt like less than a complete person before him. It was just now that she'd met him, grown close to him, _been_ with him, part of her was empty when they weren't together, when they weren't like this, naked and tangled up in one another. But she also felt the loss when they weren't playfully teasing one another, missed sitting beside him on the couch in a comfortable silence, missed sharing a meal or a joke. She needed him. She loved him.

She'd always thought she'd had a type, a more 'sophisticated' type. But men like that, they'd never made her happy, had they? And Chris LaSalle only seemed simple or 'common' upon the first glance. There was a duality to the man, with his darker side, keeping secrets and certain parts of his past buried deep down, just like Merri herself did. And yet there was this endearing innocence to the man, a childlike love of life and fun. It bespoke an honest, affectionate heart. Doubtless, it was the only thing that had allowed him to survive all the pain he'd seen.

He was honest and raw.

And never more-so than when making love to her. The way he stared into her eyes with his deep blue ones. The way he didn't hold back any of his thoughts, feelings or reactions. It was rather amusing how his accent grew incomprehensibly thick as he muttered a string of increasingly bizarre profanities and pleas. Whether they were meant to encourage her, or if he even realized what he was saying, she didn't know. She only knew that she liked the way he seemed to lose control when she-

Chris groaned loudly, collapsing on her when his arms gave out. She wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms around his shoulders and held him, laughing a little.

"Dang it woman, why're ya so fuckin' hell-bent on undoin' me 'efore I ken get ya off?"

She kissed the side of his neck, laughing against his sweaty skin. He'd worked himself up into a good lather with all of their teasing foreplay and wrestling for dominance in the encounter. But she wasn't going to lie. She loved the playful side of the man as much as his intensity in the sack.

"Just testing your self control."

He pushed himself up, shifting his weight but she tightened the grip of her legs on his waist, preventing him from trying to resume his rhythmic thrusts. He growled her name, sending a wave of pleasure along her spine. She shouldn't love torturing him like this, but drawing out the buildup to his climax... Fuck, how it increased her own arousal.

"S'not a very good test a' _my_ self control if yer the one controllin' it." He stared down at her with his beautiful blue eyes, all dark cobalt and black dilated pupils. And she was relieved she hadn't genuinely pissed him off. In fact, he had that stupid-happy grin on his face. He was enjoying this as much as she was, the testing one another, figuring each other out, working out how their relationship would be.

She relented, relaxing her muscles and the grip she had on him, inside and out. He leaned in as if to kiss her, but instead rested his forehead against hers, chuckling lightly.

"Dang it woman if ya ain't the most frustratin', sexy an' fun woman I ever been wi'."

He kissed her with his tongue. There was a thing he did that she couldn't exactly figure out the mechanics or physiology of it, but _damn_. She moaned into his mouth, her entire body responding to the kiss, her hips thrusting upward to take more of him inside of her. He pushed her back down onto the mattress, pulling away to hover over her, grinning smugly at her, raising a presumptive eyebrow.

"I like you, too, Chris." She rolled her eyes as if the admission were a burden.

Mm, yes. He settled his weight back onto her. Did he know how much she enjoyed the feel of him on top of her, as well as inside of her, _all over her_?

He must, because he propped himself up only enough to look down into her eyes with his pretty blue ones. There was such a depth to them, she could read his happy, playful attitude, but also something serious and intense residing in the ocean of blue.

"Jus' _like_?" he asked, his voice soft, uncertain in a way she'd never heard him be before.

He had to ask?

 _Oh, god. He had to ask! He didn't know!_

She thought it'd been as clear as day in the way she couldn't stop looking at him, the way she knew she lit up whenever he was around, the way she'd tried to avoid him entirely to protect her stupid heart (and his).

"I like you more than anyone else I've ever met," she said, taking his face in her hands. "I like you more than people I've loved, Chris LaSalle."

He broke out into his broadest grin, growling "Good" before resuming kissing her and attempting to pound her into the mattress.

 _Good_ was an understatement.

* * *

Good. Oh, so good. So _fuckin'_ good.

"Oh, _sweet baby jesus_ ," he gasped, digging his fingers into the flesh of her full ass as she thrust her hips spastically upward, her back arching off the mattress and her head thrown back. The contortion of her body presented her breasts and the flawless skin of elegant throat in an image akin to artwork. Only Chris didn't have much of a mind to appreciate the view as pleasure tore through him, making him damn near black out as he climaxed.

Breathless, he somehow managed not to collapse on top of Merri but sprawled his limp, trembling body on the bed beside her. Dear lord, she sucked him dry every time. It felt like his bones had liquefied. And he could only exist as a quivering pile of goo. It was rather a blissful existence, actually. Listening to Merri's soft moans of pleasure as she rode the aftershocks of her orgasm, a distant sort of noise overwhelmed by the thundering of his heart in his chest.

It was easy to lose himself in her. Her body was pleasure incarnate. And the soul that inhabited it was more than appealing. It was seductive, how well she fit him. In every respect. Physically -oh, man- she was just... _amazing_. He couldn't even describe how it felt to be with her, inside of her, the way her body responded to his, electrified his. It was like they fed off one another's building pleasure in a loop that spiraled them higher and higher.

And if the sex wasn't enough. There was everything else about her, the way her personality complemented his own, how she knew how to pause, take a step back when he only reacted viscerally. How she calmed him in such circumstances. Or how he did the same for her on the rare ocassions when a case, or an event in personal life become too much. She seemed reserved, but she wasn't a prude. She just took a while to trust (a wise thing). But once she did let loose, she was an immense amount of fun. Yet still level headed enough to be slightly more sober when he had a little too much fun. She watched him with as much curiosity and genuine interest when he stood on the side of crick and cast a lure into the depths of the water as he did when she tore through the entire book of crossword puzzles he'd given her.

They weren't the same.

And it made things so much more interesting. Honestly, he loved when she got a little tiffed at him, her lips pressing together in disapproval, that little line forming between her brows. Her big brown eyes evaluating him, whether he could seriously be so stupid. If he really got her worked up, her whole body tensed, sorta like the moment before she climaxed with his name on her lips. So yeah, it kind of turned him on. Almost as much as pulling her languid, warm soft body to his as she basked in the afterglow of orgasm.

She moaned softly, long and low against his neck as her weight settled partly on top of him, partly against his side. She threw one of her long slender legs over his, and the wet heat of her core pressed sticky and warm to his hip. He himself was soaked in sweat, and thought that as soon as they were capable of standing on legs gone rubbery, they'd need a shower.

Just a few minutes of this first, please.

Merri could be so open with him that he knew no one else would believe if he told them. Hell, it still surprised him. Even after the secret she'd revealed, that initial damage to her heart. She was nuzzling his throat and neck affectionately, her fingers dancing playfully over his chest as she continued to make soft little mewling sounds of pleasure.

And that was the best part. She could tell him anything. And he could tell her anything. Or not tell her. Merri knew how it worked when you had terrible heartache inside of you. That sometimes it was good to talk about it. And sometimes it only served to reopen the wounds. Pride, god love 'im, had tried his best to console Chris, to understand him and help him. But frankly, the senior agent hadn't suffered the heartache that Chris had. The older man had had a picture-perfect life, despite the recent break-up of his marriage. That was a loss... but it was a slow sort of death, of two hearts drifting apart. It wasn't the same as having a chunk of the living, beating flesh torn away. Merri knew that pain. She had big holes in her own heart. And Chris only hoped he helped soothe and fill them a fraction as much as she did his.

Not that he ever thought of Merri as a substitute for Savannah. They were two different women. He'd loved Savannah. Her loss had nearly destroyed the feeling heart in him. And he would always love and miss her. But Merri had shown him that his heart was bigger than he'd ever thought. It not only had room for her, it craved her, needed her, _wanted_ her.

"I love ya, Merri," he said softly wrapping his arms around her and giving her a squeeze as he kissed the of her head.

He wasn't sure how she'd respond. And he didn't care. He just needed her to know that he loved her, that he wouldn't stop loving her, and that if she wanted him in her life, he would _never_ leave her.

"I love you too Chris," she said, and then placing her hands on his chest pushed herself up to look down into his face. Dear god, her eyes could be so breathtakingly beautiful. She was so _beautiful_ when she was looking at him like that. Looking at him with affection and _love_. He felt a warmth blossom in his chest, making him giddy, like a smitten fool. (But in a good way.)

"Can we make this work?" she asked, an almost desperateness in her eyes.

"It ain't gonna be easy," he said, and she frowned a little. "But nothin' worth doin' ever is."

She smiled and kissed him. He didn't know how long it would take. Maybe they would never get 'there'. But life was always changing, evolving. And that was good. Because anything it could throw at them, they could work it out together.

END

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 **A/N: For some reason LaSalle needed to have the last word here, to be in control of the emotional resolution. Probably because with the useless pathetic personality and voice they gave him in season two, I thought he needed a little more loving (writing-wise and other wise). Now on to rewatch more season one and write some Badass!LaSalle, not Pathetic-Stands-There-And-Looks-Stupid LaSalle (I will never forgive TPTB for the way they gutted his character).**


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